


A Child With a Crest

by SabineElectricHeart (TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Family, Horror, Infanticide, Internalized Misogyny, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 15:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns/pseuds/SabineElectricHeart
Summary: A birthing woman waits for her husband to return.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Sylvain Jose Gautier's Father, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Sylvain Jose Gautier's Mother, Sylvain Jose Gautier's Father & Miklan, Sylvain Jose Gautier's Father/Sylvain Jose Gautier's Mother, Sylvain Jose Gautier's Mother & Miklan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	A Child With a Crest

He is gone again. My husband. There is nothing I can do but wait.

It was the fifth day of Garland Moon. The nights were shorter and the days were warmer. Soon, the Day of Love will be upon us, and I hope an heir is a better gift than any old garland.

The midwife has bathed the baby and placed it in my arms, even though he told her not to until he returns. I am numb. When I look into the red, wailing face of my child, I feel nothing. I do not dare. My breasts ache in response to its cry. I suppose that means I should feed it, but I do not dare do that, either. It gets nothing. No milk. No name. No right to exist. Not until my husband says so.

 _Do not get too attached_ , I tell myself. _Not this time. There will come a moment for you to indulge, but not now and not today_.

It is much worse than the last time. The waiting, that is. The time seems to extend infinitely while I was left alone in my chambers, with it on my arms and a heart full with terrors. I was afraid then, too, but I was so certain that everything would be all right in the end. I was a naïve girl, then, and I did not know the reality of my condition in this house.

It was plain bad luck that I conceived during a time when my husband was so frequently away from home. He is an important man, the Margrave, often too busy for such trivialities as wife and family. The Sreng barbarians were acting out once more that Moon, and so he was out in the border, keeping them in check. I was faithful, though. The child was definitively his.

He did not believe me. He called me all manner of vile names, he threw accusations at me, but he never once laid hand nor iron on me. He would never do that, unless I provoked him. He is a good man, and good men do not hurt deserving wives.

When the child was born, he did not even come to look at it. Instead, the cleric who birthed it took a sample of its blood and the Margrave ran to the church to have it tested. A child with a Crest is a necessity in those wildlands, and the Western Church is kind enough to test blood samples of the nobles and bannermen of the region, lest we waste resources on those who will not be able to fight for us when time comes.

These are matters of public record, the bishop in Arianrhod was quick to point out whenever questioned about it. The noblemen had every right to check whether their wives had made a scandal of myself and besmirched their good names.

I waited, then as now, knowing I had done no wrong, but terrified nonetheless. I rocked that baby, murmuring soothing words, telling it and myself that everything would be all right. Only that time, I had the misfortune to believe in my own words. My husband would see that I had not been unfaithful, and all would be well.

When he returned, yellow eyes blazing with cold fury like a ravenous wolf, he spared no glance for the midwife, only snapping, "Out!" before rounding on me.

He stood at the foot of my bed, the Lance of Ruin in his hand, glaring. I kept my eyes lowered, hunching protectively over my baby.

"What is wrong, milord?" I asked, willing my voice not to shake.

" _What is wrong_?!" He hissed. "What is wrong, you fucking useless bitch, is that thing attached to your tit. Put it away from you this instant, or by all that is pure and powerful, you will wish that you had."

Trembling but obedient, I laid the keening baby on the bed. My husband settled the Relic down by the door and strode over to it, lifting the child with an expression of revulsion. He turned towards the door.

"W-where are you taking it, milord?" I asked, my voice faltering and my eyes filling with tears.

"I will not have this abomination in my house." He said, simple and cold, with no attachment to anything.

As soon as he came, he was gone, taking the weapon and slamming shut the door behind him.

The infant's wail drifted back to me from the corridor for a moment, then a flash of red light appeared under the door, and the sound abruptly ceased. A scream of anguish tore from my throat. I slumped onto the bed, curled around my aching and empty womb.

I do not know how long I lay there. Ten minutes. An hour. Longer still. When he returned, I threw myself at him with a cry of rage. I would have clawed those cold eyes out of his head if I had reached him, but he held his weapon, and I had nothing but my own hands.

He shoves the dull end of the Lance of Ruin against my womb with murderous force. Pain lit every nerve of my body and I crumpled to the floor. It was over almost as soon as it began, but I did not try to rise.

"Why?" I wailed.

"The test came back negative." He spat. "You bore me a Crestless bastard, you worthless cunt! I thought I was getting a wife of unquestionable breed who would bear me a powerful heir. Your family sold me a bill of goods. You are a disgrace to your name. I should send you back to them in pieces."

"Please." I begged, raising my tear-streaked face to look at him. "Give me one more chance. It was not my fault! I-I will do better next time. I promise I…!"

With a look of sneering disgust, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him once more.

He gave me another chance, though, because he is a fair man. A good man. This is my last chance. I suppose he had to, to save face. It would have done him any more good than me if word had got out that I had borne him a Crestless child, lest the bannermen think the blood is thinning. So, it was kept quiet, and he put the word about that the baby had been born dead. The midwife was paid handsomely for her silence. It was not the first time such a thing had happened, after all, and it would not be the last.

I did not conceive again for nearly a year. My husband is such an important man, always busy, rarely home. Yet, he did his duty in my bed, and a year later, I was with child for a second time.

Now, I wait, cradling another infant to my breast, so warm and alive, murmuring the same soothing words that the other once heard, but not believing them at all.

The worst that could happen would be for him to kill this baby, too, and send me back to my family in disgrace. I have no illusions about how they would greet a daughter who had borne two Crestless sons. It would be better for everyone if the Margrave kills us both.

He would be right to do it, after all. There is no reason why a good, Goddess-fearing nobleman should permit a Crestless child to pass between his wife's thighs. To allow such a child to live is anathema to all that we hold true, and a noblewoman who cannot bear a Crested child is worthless. A man such as my husband is entitled to a proper wife who can bear him the heir he deserves.

However… I can see, with my clear eyes and strong conviction, that my baby is so strong and perfect and beautiful. I cannot wish it dead, no matter what its faults. I cannot just sit by and let it happen. Not again. I could try to run now, before he comes back. I would not get far, though. Not carrying a baby. Not with my body exhausted by birth and fear.

Even if I did run, where could I hide? There was no household in Faerghus who would shelter the runaway wife of the Margrave, the Royal Guard would look for me anywhere and everywhere in Fódlan, and a man has a legal right to his wife and child to do as he pleases.

I am not a coward. I will not run. I will stay and face him. Better that I should die fighting for myself and my child, even if there is no point to it, and no hope.

Footsteps are heard from downstairs. He is back. My husband. Our time has run out. A shiver of fear rolls down my spine. I wonder if anyone will miss me when I am gone, I wonder if I will go to a place where I can be with my babies, if I deserve blessings after letting my oldest child just be killed with a stroke of a lance.

I wish there was something more I could do than be afraid, but there is nothing left. Nothing but me and it.

Footsteps in the corridor. My baby is crying. I am holding it too tightly, but I cannot seem to loosen my grip.

The door opens, and he is standing there, silhouetted by the light from the hallway. He crosses the room to stand beside my bed, eyes unreadable.

"Give him to me, milady." He says in a low voice.

My breath catches in my throat. Him, not it.

I cannot refuse him. He is too powerful, too commanding. Arms shaking, I offer my baby up to him. He lifts the child into his arms.

"Sylvain Gautier." He murmurs, cradling our child's head in his palm. "Welcome, my son."

I feel dizzy, faint with relief I had not dared to hope for. We will live, Sylvain and I, because my husband decrees it. and one day, he will be a powerful, proud, and righteous Margrave, just like his father.


End file.
